Trickster (Angelbound Lincoln Book 3)

by Christina Bauer

  “Court? Weeks? No.” I hold my hands up, palms forward. “Look, this needs to move fast. The Contagion is loose. As in the guy is moving around now. Trouble. His next target is Spivey here. Long story short, my warrior buddy and I want to use your Sir Whines-A-Lot as bait, lure the Contagion out into the open, and then end your little tree wizard problem, once and for all.”

  “Yet you have no weapons,” says the Salientian.

  My tail juts forward to point at the Reptilian kings’ heart. I pat the arrowhead end. “He didn’t know about you, bud.” Using my pointer finger, I boop my tail’s pointy end. That always cheers it up.

  With my tail happy, I refocus on Salientian. “To answer your question, some weapons would be great.” My tail points right at my nose. It’s getting ticked off. “What? Just as a back up. You know you’re my first line of defense.”

  Salientian rocks on his heels. “You wish a rather large boon to be made. What bounty will you pay?”

  “Come on. My friend, Lincoln, and I are offering to do you a solid. What’s with the sacrifices?”

  “Lincoln?” asks Spivey. “Isn’t that a traditional thrax name?”

  I point in the opposite direction. “Oh my, is that a huge and unusual insect?” Sure enough, Spivey runs off after a non-existent bug. He he.

  If Salientian noticed the thrax comment, he doesn’t respond to it. “I have decided,” declares the king. “Myla and Lincoln are approved to enter my court for one week. We shall discuss things in more detail over the next seven days.”

  “What? No! The Contagion is mobile now. He’s slithering underground and grabbing people with his slimy roots and stuff. This isn’t a let’s go hang in court for a week and chit chat sort of situation.”

  Salientian whistles. Everyone heads back across the desert.

  Guess that’s a no. Effective, too.

  One of the big Pterodactyl types lumbers up to me. Raising its front leg, it curls its talon like a swing. I’ve dealt with enough dragons to know this gesture.

  Come aboard.

  For the second time, someone’s trying to carry me around. At least with this instance, there are no egg-shaped prisons involved.

  I shake my head. “Appreciate the offer, but I’m not going anywhere without Lincoln. I can meet you up wherever. Just give me the coordinates.”

  “Not acceptable.” That’s a voice behind me. Turning around, I find Salientian.

  “You’re pretty stealthy. Is that something you train for?”

  Not my best conversation opener, but I want to get Salientian talking about something other than traveling by Pterodactyl Airlines. I’ve seen my share of human horror movies. Only a dumbass goes off with the random Reptilian people and leaves her battle partner behind.

  “You must depart now,” says Salientian. “Or I shall rescind the approved introduction to my court. And you know what that means.”

  I crook my finger at him. “Bring it on.”

  45

  Lincoln

  After chatting up Rufus, I head back to meet up with Myla. Strolling through the forest gives me a moment to process everything I learned about Aldred’s plans.

  Then I see Myla, a Pterodactyl, and a Reptilian wearing a crown. That could be the start of a bad joke, but my girl is crooking her finger at the king. I’ve seen this move before. She’s itching for a fight.

  I take off at a run.

  Once I break through the forest line, I call out to Myla. “Over here!”

  She lowers her hand, which is a good sign. I rush to her side.

  “You,” says the king. “You’re Lincoln.”

  “His name’s Salientian,” says Myla.

  “Prince Lincoln Vidar Osric Aquilus, pleased to meet you.” I bow slightly at the waist.

  “You smell of lion,” says Salientian. This doesn’t seem to be winning me any good graces. “My spies have been tracking one of their number. Fat and slow moving. Has lots of after-realmers with him, too.”

  “They are off to visit the Felines.” Which is true. I don’t add the bit about picking up the thrax Marked One.

  “This situation makes you two far more interesting. I should like to discuss the after-realmers.” Salientian raises his hand, and there’s no missing the long talons of his fingernails. “I officially accept your introduction to court. Again.”

  I bow again, because it seemed to be a winning move last time. “Thank you.”

  “It will be an interesting week,” adds Salientian.

  I look to Myla, my brows raised. “Week?”

  “Yup.” She pops the last P on yup.

  Letting out a loud squawk, the Pterodactyl stomps his front claw against the sand. Some of the other Pterodactyls take to the skies. Salientian saunters off be carried away himself.

  I offer Myla my hand. “Shall we?”

  “Let’s.”

  Reptilian lands, here we come.

  46

  Lincoln

  Moments later, I balance on the bottom curve of the Pterodactyl’s claw as it carries me over undulating sheets of emerald sand. Myla stands beside me. The vague scent of charcoal hangs in the air. Wind roars in my ears. The morning sun sears onto my skin. Below, the desert resembles a green ocean that somehow froze. Curling dunes line up like waves heading toward an unseen shore, yet never moving any closer.

  The image arrests me. A frozen sea is similar to me and Myla in this moment. We move toward a goal, yet at the same time, we’re stuck with no progress.

  I watch the sands speed beneath me and consider our situation. These Reptilians simply must take the threat of the Contagion seriously. There aren’t an unlimited number of chances to stop this monster.

  The Pterodactyl wings toward a great sinkhole. Having lived my life underground, I’ve seen my share of such formations. Our Pterodactyl swoops over the great gap in the desert floor. With a giant caw, it sets me and Myla loose.

  That’s a kick of adrenaline.

  Myla and I tumble through the air. Sunlight vanishes as we pass through the great gap in the desert floor. Perfect darkness engulfs us both. The barest glint of a cave floor appears below.

  We’re nearing the ground.

  Twenty yards.

  Ten.

  Five.

  I land in a crouch. Myla is not so fortunate.

  “Not a great week for my ass,” she quips. Rubbing her backside, she rises.

  Myla wouldn’t be sassing if she were truly hurt. Still, it’s best to make sure. “Everything all right?”

  “Peachy.” Myla steps around in a slow circle, soaking in our new surroundings.

  Again, the advantage of underground living comes into play. “If I had to guess, this is a back entrance to their cave system.”

  Myla shrugs. “Just looks like a big old cavern to me.”

  I gesture to the base of the walls. “There are large backpacks lined up here, and they’re dusty. Safety ladders wind up the walls to the surface. We do this in Antrum. It’s a failsafe in case folks need to evacuate in a hurry.”

  “Makes sense.” Myla turns once more and pauses. “Oh, and here’s a dead giveaway.” She gestures to the far wall. “Behold, the big-ass wooden thing.”

  Sure enough, a massive arch has been set into the wall. A huge slab of wood blocks up the space beneath. And in that plank sits a small rectangular door.

  It swings open.

  Salientian steps through, along with a small group of courtiers. It’s odd that he doesn’t have any ladies in his immediate clique. I’m used to Octavia being ever-present.

  “Welcome to the new Reptilian homeland,” states Salientian.

  “New?” asks Myla. “What happened to your old one?”

  “Nothing happened,” answers Salientian quickly. “The desert palace still exists. It simply became boring after the Contagion lured the apprentices out.”

  “Oooh.” Myla’s eyes widen with sympathy. “The desert palace was for the wizards.”

  “No, the underground palace is simp
ly better.” Salientian beams. “We live a rather unusual lifestyle. I hope it won’t shock.”

  “Can’t wait to see it,” I state. Which is true. I’m unaware of any other peoples who live underground. This will be an education.

  We follow Salientian through the small door. An elaborate palace greets us on the other side. There are checkerboard floors, glittering chandeliers, and large paintings in elaborate frames. All of them are colored in different shades of green.

  “It’s all right to be stunned,” says Salientian. “No one else in the Primeval lives such a civilized existence.”

  Just as outside, everyone here is dressed to drink champagne with Marie Antoinette. The ladies sport huge dresses and massive wigs. The men have long velvet coats with frilly shirts underneath.

  “You’ve both been rather quiet,” says Salientian. “What do you think?”

  Myla steps around in a low circle. “There may be something about living underground and the need to overdress.”

  I nod. “Good point.”

  “Be that as it may,” says Salientian. “You may now change and rest. Soon we shall feast and discuss things in more detail.”

  “Anything more specific for us on that?” asks Myla. “Soon is a little vague.”

  I step to Myla’s side. All the better to show our united front on this topic. “Agreed. We must go after Contagion now.”

  Salientian chuckles. “Please. The Contagion can’t touch us here. Why do you think we live below ground?”

  I think back to the sink hole. “This settlement isn’t that deep below the surface. You need to be miles below for enemies to stay out.”

  Salientian hisses. “We are the most secure land in the Primeval.”

  “No,” I counter. “This place is a death trap.” Salientian bares his pointed teeth.

  Myla moves to stand between me and the king. “Usually, it’s my job to piss people off. My guy here is a newbie.”

  “What did you say?” asks Salientian. “Speak plainly.”

  “We’ll just do whatever you want right now.” She accents that point by twiddling her hair. It’s a classic move from her I’m so innocent routine during fights in Purgatory’s Arena. Makes opponents drop their guard.

  Sure enough, the move works on Salientian, although it’s in a slightly different way than in the Arena. He stares in rapture at Myla’s wavy locks. “Your hair is crimson. Everything here is green.” He shakes his head, as if snapping himself out of a dream. “Go to your rooms and await orders.”

  A servant with a massive green wig steps up. “This way,” she announces.

  “We’ll follow,” I state.

  And I mean it. For now.

  47

  Myla

  The green reptile chick with the puffy wig leads us to our chambers. The moment the door swings open, I make my proclamation.

  “This is some over-the-top stuff.”

  After closing the door, my guy gives the room a once-over as well. “I’ve never seen anything to match this, and I visit many places on demon patrol.”

  I decide to transform myself into chamber tour hostess for the occasion. I swing my arms wide, gesturing across the space. “First of all, we have the green-ness. I’m no expert on colors, but there’s your emerald color, moss shade, the particular light green of that sauce that goes on rolly tacos at restaurants…”

  “Mole verde,” says Lincoln, because that’s my guy. “Anything else?”

  “I’m out of green things. If Cissy were here, she’d list for an hour. Moving on.” I step over to the wall. “Now these curtains are interesting.” I pull the fabric back. “But there’s nothing behind them but glass with a nice view of dirt because we’re underground.”

  “Not deep enough underground,” quips Lincoln.

  “True.” I shake out the curtains in question. “And look how long these go. What is that, two, three feet over the floor?”

  “Thirty-eight inches,” says Lincoln. I could ask how my guy knows that, but it probably involves math and/or science. More fun to keep complaining about the curtains.

  “What happens when you vacuum and suck up part of the curtain? This is totally useless.” I tap my chin. “Not that they have vacuums here, but you get the idea.”

  Lincoln grins. He loves it when I go off on random junk. “Testify.”

  I set my fists on my hips and continue my survey. “The carved wooden furniture could be cool, but it’s all painted green and decorated with frogs and whatnot.” I spy a dining room table area. “Hold on! Food!”

  Like a tornado to a trailer park, I rush over to the very large ceramic bowl on the table. A matching cover sits atop the dish. Looping my fingers around on the top handle, I close my eyes, and take in a long breath.

  “Now we conclude our episode of Myla Bitches About Random Stuff with some questions. What could be inside this thing? Brownies, cookies, or brownie cookie lava cake?”

  “You might be setting your hopes up a little high,” deadpans Lincoln.

  “Shhh. I’m having my time for me.”

  I lift the cover from the bowl. Inside, there’s a surprise.

  Bugs.

  Dead.

  And a lot of them.

  I slap the cover back on and take a big step backward. “There are moon dreamers in there. Like big nasty ones.” The horror sinks in. “They breaded and deep fried them with their shells on. What kind of monsters are these Reptilians?”

  Lincoln cracks a smile. “I’d guess moon dreamers are a good source of protein.”

  “Sure. Take their side.” I stare at the covered bowl and sigh. Brownies weren’t a requirement. A donut could have worked. “That is a big bummer.”

  Lincoln steps up and cups my face in his hands. “When was the last time you really slept?”

  At the mention of the word slept, I yawn my face off. “A while ago? Not that you aren’t snuggly, but I don’t think I’ve been snoozing as much as I think I have. Definitely less than I think that you think that I think I have.” I crumple up my face, wondering if that made sense. Probably not.

  “How about we both get some shut-eye? The bed here looks rather comfortable. I don’t think you’re hungry so much as tired.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “Your disappointment factor. All-out rage is your true mental state when in need of sustenance.”

  “Good point.”

  We strip off our clothes and slip into bed. Once we’re snuggled under the sheets, Lincoln updates me on his chat with Rufus, but I don’t catch all the details. Mostly because he falls asleep half way through.

  Seconds later, I’m zonked out right beside him. Although I do still drape myself over his side. My guy is really cuddly.

  48

  Lincoln

  For once, I don’t dream of the Guide.

  Instead my night visions have me wandering about the Reptilian palace, searching for Myla. At times, I hear her voice or catch the swish of her tail around a corner. In classic dream-like fashion, I can never quite catch up to her.

  Hours stream by.

  The search continues.

  Monotonous.

  Unending.

  There are no visions of my past.

  No cryptic messages about the future.

  Although I’m asleep, some part of my consciousness analyzes this night vision. As my dream-self seeks out Myla, that other part realizes one fact.

  There’s still more at risk here than I realize.

  I must see the Guide again.

  49

  Myla

  Damn, but I have some funky-ass dreams.

  In my night visions, I’m twelve again and getting ready for another day at Purgatory Middle School HJ-261. Mom takes a brush to my hair, pulling and tugging, all in a vain attempt to get the tangles out. Since it’s a dream, this goes on for way longer than it needs to.

  I give Mom’s hand a gentle tap.

  Fine, I smack it hard because this is Dream Mom and she’s really yank
ing hard. My scalp feels like its on fire.

  One smack hits air. The second connects with scaly skin. A high-pitched yelp sounds.

  That can’t be right.

  My brain is still drowsy with sleep, though, so who knows? I might be hearing things. Opening my eyes, I find that my side of the bed is surrounded by six Reptilian ladies in enormous gowns. The closest one has her webbed fingers around a lock of my hair.

  Lincoln sits upright beside me, a look of pure malice shining in his mismatched eyes. He speaks the next two words slowly. “Back off.”

  In my opinion, these Reptilians only pretend not to understand slang when it’s useful for them. Because Lady Grabs-A-Lot understands exactly what Lincoln means. Releasing my hair, she steps away.

  “What are you doing here?” asks Lincoln.

  “The feast begins soon,” replies Grabs-A-Lot. “We wondered if Miss Myla needed any help with her hair.”

  “My hair,” I repeat.

  “Of course,” says Grabs-A-Lot. “You’ve such pretty red hair. And everything here is green.”

  “No,” declares Lincoln. And there’s a whole lot of malice crammed in that word.

  “But—”

  Lincoln gets up, totally naked, to cross the room and open the main door. “Out.”

  I can’t tell if the ladies are blushing, what with their scaly green faces and all. But I’m pretty sure they are.

  And I get it. There’s a reason BAEJS is a thing.

  Grabs-A-Lot is last through the door. “The feast starts any minute, simply open the door and someone will take you to the—”

  SLAM.

  Lincoln kicked the door shut before Grabs-A-Lot could finish.

  “They have no right coming in here without announcing themselves.” Lincoln’s hands ball into fists. “And I was so dead asleep, I didn’t even hear them. That’s not like me.”